I caught them effortlessly, but I was confused.
“What’s this for?” I asked. They didn’t look like car keys, and I already had my mom’s old car anyway.
My dad nodded toward a dusty tarp in the corner of the garage. It had been there for as long as I could remember, covering up something that I was told not to touch.
When I pulled the tarp off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was my dad’s old Harley, a ’73 Shovelhead. It was the stuff of my childhood dreams, the bike that had always seemed just out of reach.
All I had wanted to do when I was younger was steal my dad’s leather jacket and sit on the motorcycle. But he always shouted at me whenever I tried to touch it.
“If there’s one scratch on it, Seth,” he would say, “I’ll take all your spending money away.”
That was enough to keep me away from the dream bike.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
My father shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“Yeah, why not, son?” he declared. “It hasn’t run in years, to be honest, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift, Seth.”
I could barely believe it.
I was finally going to ride that bike, and feel the engine roaring beneath me, the wind in my hair. It was going to be everything I had dreamt of and more. I was finally going to be like my dad.
I ran my hand over the cracked leather seat, taking in the gift.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The moment those keys were in my hand, that motorcycle became my new obsession.
“Jeez, son,” the mechanic said when I took the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck. “There’s a lot to be done here. But I can do the big things for you, and you’ll be able to sort out the smaller things if you’re confident enough.”
I saved every penny from my barista role at the café. I was extra polite to all my customers, hoping for large tips, ready to go straight into the motorcycle restoration fund.
Soon, my nights, weekends, and any and all free time I had were spent outside with the motorcycle. I tore it down and put it back together, better than ever, restoring old parts. I watched countless YouTube tutorials and read every manual I could find.
“What are you doing now?” my roommate, Brett, asked when I was hunched over my laptop on the couch.
“I’m looking at forums online for tips about the motorcycle,” I said.
“That’s all you do these days, buddy,” he said, chuckling.
Fourteen months later, the day finally came. I polished the last piece of chrome, stood back, and admired my work. The Harley gleamed under the garage lights, looking like it had just rolled off the assembly line.
“Good job, Seth,” I muttered to myself.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about showing it to my parents, especially my dad. I imagined the pride on his face, the way his eyes would light up when he saw what I’d done.
I hoped that he would finally be proud of something I had done. But nothing prepared me for what was to come next.
I rode it over to my parents’ house, the engine purring beneath my legs like a big cat. As I parked in the driveway, I felt a rush of nerves. I hadn’t felt this anxious since I was waiting for my acceptance letter for college.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, walking into the hallway.
“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom called.
I walked into the kitchen, and there they were. My dad was drinking a cup of tea, and Mom was busy putting together a lasagna.
“I’ve got something to show you!” I said. “It’s outside.”
They followed me outside, their eyes going wide when they saw the motorcycle.
“Oh my gosh, Seth,” my dad exclaimed. “Is that the Harley? My old Harley? She looks beautiful!”
“Yes,” I said, grinning. “I’ve spent the last year working on it. What do you think?”
Before they could answer, my dad moved closer to the motorcycle. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. He ran his hands along the chrome as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“You did all this?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I did!” I said, beaming proudly. “Every spare moment and extra cash went into this project. And now she’s perfect.”
For a second, I thought I saw pride flicker in his eyes, but then his expression changed. His face darkened, and I felt something change in me.
“You know, Seth,” he said slowly, “this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
My father cleared his throat, not meeting my eyes.
“I’m going to take it back,” he said, his tone final. “And I’ll give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, barely containing my anger.
He nodded.
“It’s only fair, Seth.”
I wanted to yell, to tell him how unfair he was being, how much time and money I’d poured into that bike. But I knew that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My father was too stubborn.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you think is fair.”
He looked surprised that I didn’t fight him on it, but I wasn’t done with my revenge. If he wanted to play dirty, then fine. I could play that game too. I just needed to be smarter about it.
A few days later, I saw my father posting on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and that he was taking the Harley to an upcoming bike meet with his old biking buddies.
“Now it’s on,” I said to myself.
When the day of the meet arrived, I watched from a distance as my father rolled up on the Harley, looking every bit the proud owner of a beautiful bike. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot.
But what he didn’t know was that I’d made a little modification of my own.
Under the seat, I’d installed a small switch—it was nothing fancy. But it was a precaution in case the Harley was ever stolen. The switch, when accessed, would cut off the fuel line with a quick flick of the remote, which was firmly planted in my hand.
I waited until he was right in the middle of the crowd, basking in the admiration, and then, from a distance, I pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered, the engine dying with a weak cough. Soon, my father’s smug grin disappeared as he tried to restart it, but the engine wouldn’t give.
The murmurs began, making their way through the crowd, and a few of his buddies laughed under their breath.
“Need a hand, Dad?” I asked when I made my way over to him.
He glared at me, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. I knelt down, pretending to fiddle with the bike for a moment before “fixing” the problem by turning off the switch.
The engine roared back to life, but by then, the damage was done.
The look of embarrassment on my dad’s face was worth every second of the work I had put into the Harley.
He handed me the keys, his jaw clenched tightly.
“It’s yours,” he said, walking away.
I smiled, knowing the Harley was mine, and so was my father’s respect, even if he couldn’t say it.
Girl Claims She Sees Late Mom at School Every Day, Dad Shocked Upon Discovering the Truth — Story of the Day
Michael, a single father, was left with his 8-year-old daughter after his wife died in a car accident. He thought he was managing well and that his daughter was coping with her mother’s death. But one day, she approached him and said she saw her mom at school every day.
Michael mourned the loss of his wife, Simone, every day. Just a few months ago, she had died in a car accident, but her body was never found because she had fallen into a river.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
This left Michael alone with his 8-year-old daughter, Hannah. Determined to stay strong for her, Michael moved to another city to escape the painful memories that filled their old town. He knew Hannah had already lost her mother; he couldn’t let her lose him, too.
Hannah slowly adapted to her new school and even seemed happy. Michael, on the other hand, had to learn to be both a father and a mother.
He taught himself how to style Hannah’s hair, woke up early every morning to make her breakfast and pack her lunch, and even learned some ballet moves to practice with her at home.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Simone had enrolled Hannah in ballet, believing she would be a great ballerina one day. Michael kept that dream alive, and it kept a part of Simone alive in her.
Today, Michael had finished work early and decided to pick up Hannah from school, a rare treat since she usually took the bus. He waited in the car outside the school, excitement bubbling inside him.
Soon, Hannah ran out of the school. Michael honked the horn to get her attention, and she waved cheerfully, sprinting toward the car. She hopped in, throwing her backpack onto the back seat.
“Hi, Dad!” Hannah said with a big smile as she got into the car.
“Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?” Michael asked, starting to drive.
“It was good. Everyone praised me for my math. All the work we did yesterday really helped,” Hannah replied proudly.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Hannah’s smile faded. “But Mom still ignores me,” she said sadly.
Michael’s heart skipped a beat. He hit the brakes harder than he meant to. “What do you mean, Hannah? Do you talk to her?” he asked, his voice full of worry.
“Yes, every day,” Hannah said. “But she pretends she doesn’t know me.”
Michael sighed and started driving again, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. “Hannah, your mom is in a better place now. It’s far away, and she can’t respond to you. But she hears everything you say and loves you very much.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source:Midjourney
Hannah looked confused. “What do you mean? She’s not far away. She’s at school. I see her every day,” she insisted.
Michael glanced at her, puzzled. “What? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Hannah groaned in frustration. “Dad, what’s not to understand? Mom cleans our school every morning when I get there. But when I talk to her, she says she doesn’t know me. I think she’s mad because I want to quit ballet,” she said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You want to quit ballet?” Michael asked, surprised.
Yes. I don’t like it anymore. Mom wanted me to do ballet, but now she doesn’t even talk to me,” Hannah said.
“Hannah, you’re not quitting ballet,” Michael said firmly.
“I will!” Hannah shot back, her voice rising.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“No!” Michael shouted louder than he intended. Hannah’s eyes widened in fear. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, but you’re not quitting ballet. We’re not discussing this.”
“But…” Hannah started to say.
Michael cut her off. “It’s not up for discussion. Now let’s go to school, and you show me your mom.”
“She’s not there now. She only comes in the mornings,” Hannah replied.
“Then tomorrow, I’ll go to school with you, and you can show me,” Michael said, determined to understand what was going on.
“Okay, you’ll see I’m telling the truth. You don’t believe me now,” Hannah said quietly.
Michael sighed, his heart aching for his daughter.
For the rest of the day, Michael couldn’t find peace. His mind kept racing with thoughts of Hannah seeing visions of Simone. He had thought Hannah was coping well with her mother’s death.
She had been calm and cheerful since their move to the new city. But now, it seemed he was wrong.
The next day, Michael took Hannah to school and went inside with her. All morning, Hannah kept repeating that she wasn’t lying and that he would soon see for himself.
“Where is she?” Michael asked as they walked through the school corridors, his eyes scanning the halls.
“I don’t know. We need to find her,” Hannah replied, looking around anxiously.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
They walked further, passing classrooms and offices. Suddenly, Hannah shouted, “There! Mom!” She pointed at a cleaner standing with her back to them. Michael froze, his heart pounding.
From behind, the woman did look like Simone. Hannah ran up to her and gently tugged on her sleeve. Michael approached slowly, his mind racing.
When the woman turned around, Michael realized it wasn’t Simone. The resemblance had been uncanny from behind, but up close, it was clear she was a stranger.
“Oh, you’re not my mom,” Hannah said. She stepped back, her shoulders slumping.
“Unfortunately not, sweetie,” the woman replied kindly, giving Hannah a gentle smile.
After apologizing to the woman, Michael took Hannah’s hand and led her aside. “Hannah, this isn’t your mom. I know it’s hard to lose her, but your mom is in a better place now and is always watching over you,” he said softly.
“I know this isn’t Mom! I’m not blind,” Hannah said, her eyes filling with tears. “But she was here. I swear, I saw her.”
“Okay,” Michael sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her words.For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You don’t believe me!” Hannah shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. “Mom always believed me!” She turned and ran away from Michael.“Hannah!” he called after her, but she kept running, her small figure disappearing down the hall.
Michael returned to his car, feeling a deep sense of guilt. He knew Hannah and Simone had a special bond. He realized he could never replace her mother, but he would try his best to be there for his daughter.
Michael took time off work and scheduled an appointment with a psychologist for Hannah that very day after school. He picked her up and explained, “We’re going to see a lady you can talk to about anything. She’s here to help.”
Hannah crossed her arms and frowned, still angry with Michael. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she muttered.
“I know you’re upset, but this might help,” Michael said gently as they drove to the psychologist’s office.
When they arrived, the psychologist greeted them warmly. “Hi, Hannah. I’m Dr. Stevens. Would you like to come with me?” she asked with a kind smile.
Hannah glanced at Michael, then reluctantly followed Dr. Stevens.
After an hour, Dr. Stevens came out to talk to Michael. She looked thoughtful and serious.
“How did it go?” Michael asked, his voice filled with concern.
Dr. Stevens smiled reassuringly. “I don’t see any signs of psychological issues. I don’t think she’s lying. Hannah genuinely believes she sees her mother at school.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Michael frowned. “But that’s impossible. Her mother is dead.”
“I understand,” Dr. Stevens said, nodding. “But everyone grieves in their own way. Hannah might not be ready to let go of her mother. She could be seeing her in others.”
“What should I do?” Michael asked, feeling lost.
“Support her. Believe her,” Dr. Stevens advised. “She’s not lying to you. This is her reality right now.”
Michael nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay, thank you.”
He picked up Hannah, and they headed home. On the way, he glanced at her, noticing she seemed a bit calmer, less angry. He hoped this was a step in the right direction.
The next day, Michael took Hannah to school again. As they arrived, her teacher approached his car. “I have some of Hannah’s drawings to show you,” the teacher said.
Michael got out of the car, curious. “Sure, let’s see them,” he replied, following the teacher.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The teacher handed him a stack of drawings. Michael flipped through them, astonished. “These are amazing. I didn’t know Hannah could draw like this,” he said, feeling a swell of pride.
“She has real talent,” the teacher agreed.
Michael thanked the teacher and continued to look at the drawings as he walked into the hallway. He was so absorbed that he almost didn’t notice what was in front of him.
When he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. Standing there was Simone. Michael felt like he had forgotten how to breathe; his heart raced, and he couldn’t move.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Just then, Hannah ran out of her classroom, her face lighting up when she saw the woman.
“Mom!” Hannah shouted, running towards the woman who looked exactly like her late mother. She turned to Michael with a triumphant smile. “I told you I was telling the truth.”
Michael stood frozen, his mind reeling. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled, unable to form any other words.
The teacher called Hannah back, and she reluctantly returned to her classroom. Michael, still in shock, slowly approached the woman. “Simone?” he asked, his voice shaking.
The woman looked at him, clearly confused. “Excuse me?” she said.
“Simone, is it really you?” Michael asked again, his heart pounding.
“I’m sorry, sir, but my name is Evelyn,” the woman replied firmly.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Evelyn said, still looking puzzled
How is this possible? How did you end up here?” Michael asked.
“Sir, I really don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life. I think you must be mistaking me for someone else. I need to get back to work,” Evelyn said, turning to leave.
“You have a tattoo on your shoulder!” Michael shouted, desperate. Evelyn stopped in her tracks, frozen. “A chrysanthemum,” he added.
Evelyn turned around slowly, her eyes wide with surprise. “How do you know that?”
“You got it when Hannah was born. Hannah Chrysanthemum, that’s the name of the flower on your shoulder. You joked that even if Hannah grew up and forgot about you, the flower would always be with you,” Michael explained.
“Listen, this is very strange, and it’s scaring me,” she said, her eyes darting around nervously.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I also wanted to get that tattoo but was too scared. You were always braver than me,” Michael said.
“How do you know what tattoo I have? Have you been following me? First, that strange girl calls me her mother, and now you. I’m going to go crazy,” Evelyn said, her voice rising with fear.
“Please, let me explain everything. Will you have coffee with me?” Michael asked, his eyes pleading.
“I need to finish my work,” Evelyn replied, still looking wary.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll wait for you outside,” Michael said, hoping she would agree.
Michael went outside and leaned against his car, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe this was real. After some time, Simone came out of the school and hesitantly approached him.
“Ready to go?” Michael asked softly.
Simone nodded, and they got into the car, driving to the nearest café. They ordered coffee. Black. Michael smiled, remembering how Simone always hated coffee with sugar or cream.
When their order arrived, Michael took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. We were married, and we have a daughter named Hannah.”
Simone looked confused but listened intently. “I don’t remember any of that,” she said softly. “Fishermen found me on the riverbank. They let me live with them, but I couldn’t remember anything about my life, not even my name. I chose the name Evelyn, but I don’t know why.”
Michael’s eyes softened. “We wanted to name our next daughter Evelyn,” he explained.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Simone’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Michael nodded. “Yes. Hannah and I would love for you to come home with us. You don’t have to decide now, but think about it.”Simone looked down at her coffee. “Okay, I’ll come with you. But I still don’t remember anything.”
Michael smiled gently. “That’s alright. We can figure it out together.”Simone had been living with Michael and Hannah for a week. Hannah was very happy and constantly reminded Michael that she had been right.
Simone was also trying to adjust to her new life. Although she still couldn’t remember anything from before, she was trying her best to fit in.
Michael decided they should sleep in separate rooms for now. He wanted Simone to feel comfortable and not pressured.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Today, after breakfast, Simone was finishing her coffee at the table while Michael washed the dishes. Hannah approached Simone with a serious look on her face.
“Mom, will you be mad at me if I quit ballet?” Hannah asked.
“Why would I be mad at you?” she asked, glancing at Michael, who stopped washing dishes to listen.
“You liked watching me dance. You wanted me to be a ballerina,” Hannah said quietly.
Simone smiled gently. “And what do you want to do?” she asked.
Hannah’s face lit up. “I want to draw!”
“Then you should draw,” Simone said. She turned to Michael. “Do you think we could enroll her in an art school?”
Michael smiled warmly. “Yes, definitely,” he replied.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Yay!” Hannah shouted. She hugged Simone tightly, then ran to Michael and hugged him before dashing off to her room.
Simone watched her go, then cautiously approached Michael, holding her coffee cup. “Let me wash this,” she offered.
Michael took the cup from her hands. “It’s okay, I’ll wash it,” he said with a smile. Simone smiled back but didn’t move away. She continued to stand there, watching him.
“Is everything okay?” Michael asked, noticing her hesitation.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Yes,” Simone said softly. “I think I remembered something.”
Michael turned to face her. “What did you remember?”
“We were standing by the sea, and a dog ran up to us. It first knocked me over and then knocked down an arch we were standing under,” Simone said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Michael laughed. “Yes, that was our wedding. The dog was Toby, my childhood pet. He adored you and couldn’t contain his excitement. That was your favorite story from our wedding.”
Simone smiled. “I think it will still be my favorite story when I remember everything,” she said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Michael smiled back, and Simone tentatively hugged him. Michael hugged her back, trying not to splash her with water and soap. He felt warmth and hope flood through him.
Just a few weeks ago, he couldn’t have imagined feeling this happy again. As he held her, he realized how much he had missed this closeness.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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